Baft. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majefty?
Hub. Why, know you not? The Lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their Company,
At whole request the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majefty.
Baft. With-hold thine Indignation, mighty Heav'n,
And tempt us not to bear above our Power.
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my Power this Night
Pating thefe Flats, are taken by the Tide,
Tocie Lincoln-Wafhes have devoured them;
My felf, well mounted, have escap'd.
Away before: Conduct me to the King,
I doubt he will be dead, or e'er I come,
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot,
Henry. It is too late, the Life of all his Blood
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure Brain,
Which fome fuppofe the Soul's frail dwelling House,
Doth, by the idle Comments that it makes,
Foretel the ending of Mortality.
Enter Pembroke.
Pemb. His Highness yet doth fpeak, and holds belief, That being brought into the open Air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell Poifon which affaileth him.
Henry. Let him be brought into the Orchard here; Doth he ftill rage?
Than when you left him; even now he fung.
Henry. Oh vanity of Sickness, fierce Extreams
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death having prey'd upon the outward parts
Leaves them invifible, and her Siege is now
Against the Wind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many Legions of strange Fantasies,
Which in their throng and prefs to that laft hold,
Confound themfelves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould fing:
I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan;
Who chaunts a doleful Hymn to his own Death,
And from the Organ-pipe of frailty fings
His Soul and Body to their lafting reft.
Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are born
To fet a form upon that indigeft
Which he hath left fo fhapelefs and fo rude.
King John brought in.
K. John. I marry now my Soul hath Elbow-room,
It would not out at Windows, nor at Doors,
There is fo hot a Summer in my Bofom,
That all my Bowels crumble up to Duft:
I am a fcribled Form drawn with a Pen,
Upon a Parchment, and againft this fire do I fhrink up.
Henry. How fares your Majefty?
K. John. Poifon'd, ill fair: Dead, forfook, caft off,
And none of you will bid the Winter come
To thruft his Icy Fingers in my Maw;
Nor let my Kingdoms Rivers take their course
Through my burn'd Bofom: Nor intreat the North
To make his bleak Winds kiss my parched Lips,
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
I beg cold Comfort; and you are fo straight
And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.
Henry. Oh that there were fome Virtue in my Tears, That might relieve you.
K. John. The Salt of them is hot.
Within me is a Hell, and there the Poison
Is, as a Fiend, confin'd to tyrannize,
On unrepreevable condemned Blood.
Baft. Oh, I am fcalded with my violent Motion And Spleen of speed to fee your Majefty.
K. John. Oh Coufin, thou art come to fet mine Eye: The tackle of my Heart is crackt and burnt, And turned to one Thread, one little Hair: My Heart hath one poor String to stay it by, Which holds but 'till thy News be uttered, And then all this thou feeft, is but a Clod, And module of confounded Royalty,
Baft. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where Heav'n he knows how we fhall anfwer him.
For in a Night the best part of my Power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the Washes all, unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected Flood.
Sal. You breath thefe dead News in as dead an Ear; My Liege, my Lord; but now a King, now thus. Henry. Even fo muft I run on, and even fo ftop. What furety of the World, what hope, what ftay, When this was now a King, and now is Clay?
Baft. Art thou gone fo? I do but ftay behind
To do the Office for thee, of Revenge,
And then my Soul fhall wait on thee to Heav'n,
As it on Earth hath been thy Servant still.
Now, now you Stars, that move in your right Spheres,
Where be your Powers? Shew now your mended Faiths,
And inftantly return with me again,
To push Destruction, and perpetual Shame
Out of the weak Door of our fainting Land:
Straight let us feek, or ftraight we shall be fought,
The Dauphin rages at our very Heels.
Sal. It feems you know not then fo much as we:
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin,
And brings from him fuch Offers of our Peace,
As we with Honour and Refpect may take,
With purpose prefently to leave this War.
Baft. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Our felves well finewed to our Defence.
Sal. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already,
For many Carriages he hath difpatch'd
To the Sea-fide, and put his Cause and Quarrel
To the difpofing of the Cardinal,
With whom your felf, my self, and other Lords,
If
you think meet, this Afternoon will post,
To confummate this business happily.
Baft. Let it be fo; and you, my noble Prince,
With other Princes that may best be fpar'd,
Shall wait upon your Father's Funeral.
Henry. At Worcester muft his Body be interr'd, For fo he will'd it.
Baft. Thither fhall it then,
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal State, and glory of the Land,
To whom with all fubmiflion on my Knee,
I do bequeath my faithful Services,
And true Subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our Love we make,
To reft without a Spot for evermore.
Henry. I have a kind Soul that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it but with Tears.
Baft. Oh let us pay the time but needful Wo,
Since it hath been before hand with our Griefs.
This England never did, nor never shall
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror,
But when it firft did help to wound it felf.
Now, these her Princes are come home again,
Come the three Corners of the World in Arms,
And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue,
If England to it felf do reft but true.
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